


Stand and Deliver

by Camelittle



Series: Your Money or Your Life, Prince Charming! [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Highwayman AU, Highwayman Merlin, M/M, Merlin Bingo 2021, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Kissing, Posh Arthur, Rating May Change, Secret Identity, Stand And Deliver, magical au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 07:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30001170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: In which Merlin's a dandy highwayman, and Arthur's a damsel in distress. Pretty much.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Your Money or Your Life, Prince Charming! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2213691
Comments: 39
Kudos: 87
Collections: Merlin Bingo, Tavernfest Round 3: Superheroes and Secret Identities





	Stand and Deliver

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Regency AU square on my Merlin Bingo card. It might turn into a series because masked bandit Merlin stealing from the rich and giving to the poor? And helpless damsel Arthur? HELL YEAH. Warning for Merlin's non-con devillish highwayman kisses and wandering hands.  
> With huge thanks to the wonderful Clea2011 for confirming that dandy highwaymen do, in fact, have legs. And to Adam and the Ants for being dandy highwaymen, even if they did invent the lyrics qua qua da diddley qua qua da diddley... because seriously, Diana Dors doing That Dance? RESPECT! (Bows.)
> 
> Update: I’m honoured that the amazing LFB72 has created The Most Amazing art for this story! You’re incredible LFB thank you so much! https://archiveofourown.org/works/30066603

“Who goes there? Why have we stopped?” Arthur Pendragon peers out of the window of the stagecoach into the November gloom. 

The mists swirl but his driver does not answer - the only sounds are the shuffle of the horses’ hooves and the scratch-creak of the tangled boughs of the hawthorns that line the rutted highway. 

Abruptly, the door swings open. A blast of cold air hits Arthur’s face. His breath comes faster, sending ghostly fingers of fog blurring into the mist. Far away an owl hoots, making Morgana let out a frightened noise as her breath hitches. Gwen crosses herself. 

“Come no further, or I shall shoot,” cries Arthur. Fumbling for the flintlock muzzle-load musket that he keeps loaded beneath his seat, he lifts it carefully, placing the finger on the cock ready to pull it back. He points the muzzle out into the darkness, heart pounding, inwardly cursing his decision to travel. 

He knows he should not have embarked on this journey in such weather, and so late in the afternoon. Hounslow Common is notorious for highwaymen. But he had been helpless in the face of Morgana’s pleading, for Gwen is heavy with child, and she needs to get back to her husband. 

“Show yourself, coward!” he shouts, straining his eyes as he stares out. 

There’s a sudden movement and a rustle in the bushes. With a hoarse cry, Arthur pulls back the cock on his musket. Despite the surge of shock, he holds the barrel steady, his army training coming to the fore. Staring down the barrel of the device, he takes aim. He fires at the spot. The sound rends the air. Morgana shrieks and Gwen clamps her hands over her ears. Abruptly, a deer breaks for cover, hooves thud thudding on the bare grass.

Arthur groans. He has wasted his bullet. A tang of gunsmoke on his tongue, bitter and smoky, reminds him that he needs to reload. Cursing, he bends to retrieve the box where he keeps his gunpowder, which is when he realises that the two women are uncharacteristically silent. Straightening slowly, he glances up at them.

He starts almost out of his skin. For there, grinning at him, his hand around a terrified Gwen’s mouth, the other holding a dagger to her throat, is a masked figure. He must have come in through the other door of the stagecoach. 

The man is clad in black velvet and leather from head to toe. The only visible part of his clean-shaven face is a plump pair of rose-pink lips.

Cursing, Arthur lifts the musket with a shaking hand. But the man tuts and shakes his head, turning the barrel away with one finger. 

“Now, now. We all know it’s no longer loaded. Let’s be civilised. I’d hate it if anyone got hurt.” The man's voice is hoarse and deep, as if disguised, with a soft accent that Arthur recognises but cannot place. The threat is clear.

“Curse you, you fiend!” Carefully, Arthur lowers his musket, mind working fifteen to the dozen. There is a dagger strapped to Arthur's leg, if he can only reach it without being noticed. 

“I’ll just take your valuables and then I’ll go,” the robber says. “All nice and easy, now. No need for any unpleasantness, right ladies?”

Gwen shakes her head in agreement. She’s clearly struck dumb with fright. Morgana, on the other hand, after her initial shock has regained her usual composure. An admiring smirk playing across her face. She has long romanticised the gentlemen of the road, as she calls them. 

“Come,” she says now. “Where are your manners, sir? What manner of address is that for a lady?” 

“Forgive me, my lady!” The man smirks back, and executes a small bow - or rather a dip of his chin. But his eyes never leave Arthur’s face and his dagger remains steady at Gwen’s throat. “No need for any unpleasantness, _m’a’am_!” 

Furious at his gall , Arthur lunges forward to draw his own knife but finds his arms pinned by his side. 

The highwayman chuckles. “Ah, yes. I do apologise. I’ve cast a small spell on you, the same one I used on the driver, so that you can’t do anything foolish that might jeopardise my plans. You do understand, I’m sure?” 

“A spell?” whispers Morgana. “Then are you… could it be…?” 

“Me? Why, I... am Dragoon the Great,” says the highwayman, his smile widening to show his teeth. 

“ _You_... are a foul dog,” spits Arthur between gritted teeth. The infamous Dragoon is a notorious criminal who has been waylaying innocents on this heath for some weeks. As well as his infamy for stealing from innocent travellers, he has gained a reputation for romancing the young men that he steals from. “Let me free, you odious swine!” 

He struggles to draw his dagger or pull the trigger on his musket, but nothing seems to work. 

“Oh, don’t worry, handsome,” says Dragoon in a silky whisper. “It will wear off in good time! Just as soon as I’m done here. Now, where is your wallet?” 

The man stoops to slide his hand into the pocket where Arthur keeps his wallet, which is in an extremely intimate location. 

“Ah, pardon me sir!" Dragoon grins as he rummages around in Arthur's trousers for longer than necessary. "Ah! Here it is. Delightful fabric, this, so smooth - is it silk…?” 

“How dare you…” hisses Arthur through gritted teeth.

“Ah, I see your purse. How lovely and fat with notes it is.” Dragoon takes a moment to rummage through the papers. “Pendragon Bank, too! How fitting!”

“That is intended for the unborn child, you fiend!” Incensed, Arthur heaves and flexes against the magical bonds that hold him, but Dragoon’s magic is too strong for him. 

“Ah, alas, the poor little thing,” says Dragoon, mock-sorrowing. “But somehow I doubt you will leave it destitute, handsome. You strike me as the noble type. When it comes to your own class, at least. But just think of all the unborn souls this coin will keep fed! It will pay off the debts of several magical families rendered destitute by the dastardly Pendragon’s purge. So, forgive me, but on balance, my sympathies lie elsewhere.” 

All Arthur can do is glower, helpless as with an almost admirable efficiency, Dragoon strips them of all their valuables, even down to Arthur’s precious fob watch, gifted by his father for his birthday. He finishes by prying Arthur’s beautiful musket from his still-immobilised fingers. Powerless to resist, Arthur contents himself with spitting venomous words at the man while Morgana looks on, almost eager. No doubt she is storing the details of the encounter to report in that disgusting magazine of hers. 

“Dragoon the Great? Is it true that you steal from the rich to give to the poor?” She flutters her eyelashes. 

“Aye, my lady,” he says. There’s an amused flash of blue eyes hidden deep within his mask. “Thank you kindly for these jewels. They should fetch a fair penny in Hatton Garden. With luck we will be able to provide much needed food for the magical foundling hospital that Lord Uther Pendragon, that vile debtor, so cruelly stripped of its funds…”

“Then I wish you God speed,” she says calmly. 

“For God’s sake…” Arthur rolls his eyes. If she could move, she would practically be throwing her valuables at him. Arthur has mixed feelings about the way that his father’s requisitioned the magical foundling hospital, but the way that Morgana relishes every opportunity to go against him makes him deeply uncomfortable. 

Tying all the booty in a plain-looking sackcloth, the man throws it out into the darkness and grins as he goes to get down from the stage coach before turning back. “Oh, I almost forgot. Before I go, I’ll have a kiss.” 

Morgana tilts her chin obligingly up and leans eagerly forward, the traitor. 

“Ah, no, my pretty.” The plump-lipped mouth twists up in a grin. “Not you… your friend, now. I think I’ll take my kiss from _you_ , my handsome.”

“Me? Never!” hisses Arthur, but he is trapped, unable to move. 

“Ah, so pretty, and so angry. What I’d give to have you trapped and helpless like this in another place and time.” 

The highwayman’s mouth is soft, his lips plump and full, his breath tastes of apple and pipe tobacco. His mask burns cold against Arthur’s skin, but the heat of his mouth so close up leaves Arthur breathless. The kiss, so fleeting, sends tingles of pleasure darting around Arthur’s mouth. 

Heedless of the consternation he has created, Dragoon leaps off the coach with one bound. 

“Goodbye, handsome!” Through the muffling fog sounds distant merry laughter. 

Arthur, arms still immovable by his side, curses him roundly.

He’s never felt so aroused.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, I'm not getting paid for this work.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art The Dandy Highwayman](https://archiveofourown.org/works/30066603) by [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72)




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